


Touch Starved

by Arrestzelle



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Awkwardness, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, Fluff, M/M, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 07:03:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13735662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Paul has had an unfulfilled desire for physical affection. Who can he turn to for satisfying that certain need? Definitely not Flake or Aljoscha. Schneider? Maybe. But unlikely.





	Touch Starved

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really happy to finally get this out of my system. Feeling B is actually my favorite era so I've wanted to write something for it, for a while.

Paul isn't positive, but he's pretty sure he read, or heard, _somewhere_ that physical touch is a necessity. Not necessarily sex. Just the touch of another person. Isn't that how the phrase “touch starved” came to be? A person can be starved for touch, right? Starved for an affection found only in physical connection.

It's really not that hard to hook up with the women in their community, as Aljoscha had proven and boasted about many times, though that isn't what Paul is looking for. While touching a woman is nice, he doesn't feel like dealing with the hassle of _women._ Additionally, there's a deeper layer of intimacy in a touch that _isn't_ tainted by the desire for more. A touch that's only given for the sake of sharing affection. Paul doesn't have an intimate relationship like that with any woman—well, maybe Nikki, but he _really_ doubts she would want to. _Touch_ isn't something that really happens between them anymore. He's not in the mood to just lay with some stranger, either; that isn't fulfilling.

So now, he's stumped. Running through the list of people he would be completely at ease sharing this intimacy with reduces it to a very short number: there's Flake, _maybe_ Aljoscha, Nikki, and Schneider. There is Zimmermann, who Paul, of course, is good friends with as well, but he's not the type to do such a thing, either.

Flake is too bony and awkward—Paul is looking for a _comfortable_ answer to his problem. Not one that will give him puncture wounds from particularly sharp elbows and shoulders. And the more Paul thinks about suggesting this to Aljoscha, the more he dislikes the mere concept of doing so. There's Nikki, who he is _not_ going to ask, so that leaves Schneider. Who, more or less, tries to avoid spending too much time with him, if possible. Paul doubts he would be enthusiastic.

So now, a week since this desire arose, he sits with frustration in a semi-ring consisting of himself, Flake, Aljoscha, Schneider, and beer. Frustration because, even if drunk, he is still pestered by this gnawing need for physical affection. Considering how he is, he's attempted sneaking some in by throwing an arm around Flake's shoulders, or grabbing Schneider's hand amongst their drunken rambles to jokingly play with it—which he always shies away from by pulling his hand back as politely as he can manage. Aljoscha is touchy by nature, so Paul realistically could mess around with him as much as he would like, but again, it's not quite the same feeling considering it's _Aljoscha,_ who is twice his age _and_ doesn't shower nearly enough.

To his left, Flake sits cross legged atop the mound of blankets with his sleeves rolled up, hands gesturing in demonstration as he goes on about some story. Paul's thought process had drifted off, and thus, his attention, but he's caught enough to determine it's about him and his other group of friends fucking around on the beach, or something. Paul is frankly getting bored of all the conversation, even if it's an activity he usually enjoys—he excels at shooting the shit. But now, he's just getting sleepy and cranky because he hasn't figured out a solution to his starvation yet.

Rather than insert himself into the chatting like he tends to, Paul just nurses at his thousandth beer until it's completely consumed. He firmly plants the empty bottle into the circle of many and then with very little grace, he rises unsteadily onto his feet, earning glances from the other three—Flake stops mid-sentence.

“I'm gonna go pass out now,” Paul announces in a slur, with a lackluster salute of two fingers towards the others, “Don't have too much fun without me.”

Panning his gaze across the faces of his bandmates, he sees a smirk on Aljoscha's face, a frown on Flake's, and nothing on Schneider's. He's just staring at him past his wavy bangs which fall just slightly into his blue eyes.

“Drink's hitting you hard now?” Aljoscha teases with a toothy, shark-like grin. Paul waves his hand sluggishly, dismissively, and says with squinting eyes and a strained smile, “I'm holding it like a champ.”

“Uh, sleep well, then, I guess,” Flake speaks up, “Remember we have to leave tomorrow at ten.”

“Got it,” Paul remarks with two thumbs up and a following point of both index fingers, before he turns to begin towards the open doorway of the bedroom. He stumbles over a pillow and nearly topples over with his hands reflexively shooting out; from his peripheral vision, he sees Schneider shift towards him, maybe with concern, but Paul manages to regain his balance without bodily harm, his cheeks warming. Aljoscha cackles and calls out teasingly, “Take it slow, don't hurt yourself!”

Embarrassed, Paul says nothing and just stumbles away, ignoring the other man. The journey to the bedroom is short, albeit difficult. The unsteadiness in his feet and the swimming of his surroundings becomes much more apparent now that he's standing. Shit. He really has to lay down.

Once he steps inside the bedroom, he immediately drops onto the mattresses cluttering the floor. He moans into the haphazard blankets strewn across the mattresses. Then, after ten seconds of laying there limply, he shuffles higher up onto the mattresses so his feet aren't against the cold, hard floor.

There, he wraps blankets around himself until he's sufficiently cocooned, with his head sticking out of the roll of blankets. His blonde ponytail is becoming unraveled into a messy explosion around his hairline—a few locks cling to his lips with his saliva. The blankets smell like dust joined by the faint scent of sweat, but it's familiar and comforting. He nuzzles into the pillows and sighs heavily. His head is still spinning, but at least he's not at risk by being on his feet.

Distantly, he hears Aljoscha's piercing laughter and Schneider's low, smooth voice. Something clenches and aches in Paul's chest. Maybe he's feeling left out and unwanted, but then again, he's just drunk and lonely. He huffs into the pillows and then buries his head underneath the blankets, as an attempt to muffle their voices. It works just a little.

Either way, he ends up passing out after five minutes, which consisted of him laying there motionlessly, sprawled out with his high ponytail sticking out from within the cocoon.

 

Sometime later, he's jerked from his slumber rather abruptly from being shaken. He jolts reflexively, startled, and twists over in his mess of blankets to look at the culprit with disgruntled annoyance. It's Schneider. He's looking at Paul with his lips pressed in a line, his brow slightly furrowed. As usual, his wavy, sun-bleached locks surround his slender face in a burst of hair. His cheeks are pink—supposedly from their previous drinking. He's kneeling on the mattress beside Paul; wearing an oversized sweater colored an ugly dark green, joined by old jeans. Eying him, Paul can't help but think he has god awful fashion taste.

“What?” Paul finally grumbles as he lifts a hand to sleepily rub at an eye. He runs his other hand up over his forehead, sweeping back his wild blonde locks that have escaped from the confines of his ponytail. Schneider sweeps his gaze over the mattresses as he says lowly, “You're laying horizontally across the beds. Move over.”

“Oh,” Paul mumbles, glancing around to realize that is indeed the truth. As he wiggles over to give the other man some space, he blinks heavily and realizes just how awful he feels—he has a headache, his mouth is dry, and his eyes are burning. Of course Schneider had to wake him up. He tries to mask his irritation as he gets comfortable on a separate mattress, _vertically_ this time. He bundles up in his cocoon again, and then splats into the pillows. After a moment of stillness, he shifts onto his side, back to the other man.

Behind him, he hears Schneider unzip and remove his jeans, which are then thrown onto the other side of the room. Paul wonders if Flake and Aljoscha are still out there, drinking away. He's also curious what time it is—but the answers are unable to be obtained without having to move, so they will have to remain unanswered. On one of the other mattresses, Paul hears Schneider getting situated under some blankets himself.

Then, the room falls silent. Paul exhales deeply and clears his mind to welcome sleep.

At least, for half a minute. After laying in silence for thirty seconds, Schneider speaks up, his low, slurring voice breaking that quietness.

“You seemed distant earlier,” he says, as an invitation to explanation. Paul lays quietly for a moment, surprised, and then he feels vaguely impatient. He just wants to sleep. He doesn't want to talk about his _feelings._ Especially not with Schneider. Sometimes, he gets the impression Schneider doesn't care too much for him.

“I just want to know if you're doing alright,” Schneider continues in a low murmur, after he's given no response. Paul is actually surprised. Schneider is always awkward when it came to sentimental conversations—which is why they never have them. Paul debates what to say. Should he blow it off, or be honest? Does it really matter? God, he's too lethargic for this right now. He's in-between slightly drunk and hungover at the moment.

“Just feeling lonely,” Paul mumbles, “Not a big deal.”

“Why?” Schneider asks quietly, persistently, “I thought we were having fun.”

“It's not—I don't mean—Ugh,” Paul begins with exasperation, and then brings a hand up to rub at his eyes. He moves to sit up a little with a strained expression. Propping up on his elbows, he peeks over at Schneider who is watching him with his head on a pillow.

“Tonight was fine,” Paul continues, biting nervously at the inside of his cheek as he contemplates what to say. Reaching up, he scratches at the back of his head under blonde locks as he continues reluctantly, pensively, “I mean... You know when you get in those moods where you just want to like... I don't know. Hug someone? Because you're feeling affectionate. Or maybe you just want a hug.”

He drops his hand atop the blankets and looks at Schneider with a slight embarrassed grimace. Schneider's brow is furrowed, his glassy blue eyes searching Paul's face.

“I guess?” he replies with uncertainty, voice sluggish from intoxication, “I don't feel that often.”

Paul nods.

“Well, that's what I mean. I wasn't in the best mood today because I felt distant from everyone, y'know? And, well... It's not like the three of you are very inclined to express physical affection. So, whatever. Like I said, it's not a big deal. I'll get over it.”

“Do you not have some girl to do that with?” Schneider asks bluntly, bewildered. Paul huffs and then lays back down, eyes training up on the ceiling. He crosses his arms across his chest and says flatly, “It's different. With a girl, there's always the pressure of something more, right? I don't want that.”

“So you mean... Just platonic affection with a friend. You're lacking that, so it's making you feel lonely.”

“It sounds fucking stupid when you say it, but yeah.”

“You know you could just ask for a hug. Or something.”

Paul turns his head and stares at the other man with a lack of amusement on his face. Schneider arches a brow and stares back at him. With his voice devoid of emotion, Paul remarks blankly, asking, “If I had gone up to you without explanation and said 'hey, Schneider, can I have a hug?', do you really think you would've said yes?”

After a pause, Schneider manages the slightest amused smile.

“Probably not. I would've directed you towards Aljoscha.”

“Exactly. And Aljoscha would've just teased me.”

Silence reclaims the bedroom once again. Schneider watches him with calm, contemplative eyes, his wavy locks obscuring parts of his face. Paul refocuses his gaze on the ceiling. There are cracks dispersed throughout its surface, the paint chipping in places. The window behind them is casting a soft glow of moonlight into the room, illuminating it just well enough for Paul to take notice of such things. Considering the lengthy silence, Paul figures that's the end of their discussion, so he just pulls his blankets up higher and gets comfortable for slumber once more.

Though, of course, that isn't the end of it, because it seems like Schneider's current agenda is to keep Paul from getting his much needed rest.

“Well, do you want a hug now?” Schneider asks in a lowered voice. Paul pauses and then glances over at him. Schneider is now propped up on an elbow, a subtly uncertain expression on his flushed face—his eyes are almost timid, his lips in a strained line. Paul nearly laughs. He's so bad at this kind of thing. But regardless, it also serves to fluster Paul. He and Schneider have only hugged once, on the occasion of Schneider's birthday, which had been very brief.

“Um. You don't have to. It's not a big deal,” Paul says with warm cheeks, followed by a light laugh. Schneider then moves to sit up, pushing aside his blankets. Paul watches with his heart beginning to pound, his face heating up considerably. Schneider shifts closer on his knees, across the joined mattresses.

“Well, now I _do_ have to,” he says with the slightest smile on his thin lips, his eyes mischievous, “It's _become_ a big deal.”

“Because of you!” Paul complains weakly, with flushed cheeks. Schneider's smile extends into a grin—his dimples appear. It lights up his face and it has Paul staring in silent appreciation. Schneider joins him on the mattress, kneeling beside him. Then without hesitance, he brings his arms around him, even if Paul is not completely prepared yet—he's still propped up on his elbows. Paul stiffens at first, unsure what to do or say ( _Oh God, this is so weird, and Schneider is being nice and affectionate for once, and he's warm, and he smells like beer and his cologne, and holy shit why am I smelling him?_ ).

Paul scrambles to recover his composure. He laughs shakily and says, “I can't hug you back, I'm not sitting up! If I try, I'll just fall onto my back.”

“So?” Schneider remarks, and then pulls away to purposefully plant his hands against Paul's chest, to push him onto his back. His head meets the pillows, his hair a wild mess around his face. Paul blinks and looks up at him with surprise. Schneider is still grinning, all shark-like, his vibrant blue eyes alive with amusement. Paul has seen this version of drunk Schneider a few times before. His typical shyness disappears, and then he's all talk and laughter. Heart racing, Paul stares up at him speechlessly. His hair is messy and cute, surrounding his flushed, smiling face. His cheeks are noticeably freckled and tinted a ruddy red. Why does he suddenly look like an angel?

Abruptly, without warning, Schneider shifts closer and then flops down on top of him with his hands squeezing Paul's sides—laughing lowly while he does, as an attempt to play it off as a joke. Paul grunts from the sudden additional weight, jerking his hands up to grab onto Schneider's biceps. Paul growls and complains with his stomach flipping, “This isn't how people hug, you dick! Don't crush me!”

Schneider giggling has Paul swallowing hard and staring at him with astonishment. Schneider adjusts himself so he's not laying haphazardly on top of him; instead, he shifts to lay on his side beside Paul, drawing his arms around him in a laughable attempt to form some kind of embrace. It just ends up awkward, but at least he's trying. Paul isn't sure what to do. Turning to face him might be _too_ much, but he can't exactly return it if Schneider is laying beside him.

“Why are you just laying there? I thought you wanted this,” Schneider says, his grin fading. With his gaze shyly trained down on Schneider's arm draped across his midsection, Paul huffs and mumbles, “How am I supposed to hug you back if you're laying beside me?”

Silently, Schneider contemplates for a second. Then he begins pulling at Paul, with his hand tucking under his side. Paul glances up to meet his gaze—he's laying with his face much too close to his own. Paul nearly recoils, but he manages to repress the urge. He shifts away slightly, though Schneider is pulling him closer, so it's not like it makes a difference.

“Turn to face me, you idiot,” Schneider says, without force. Paul presses his lips together and stares down between their bodies as he shifts to do so; he moves onto his side, so they're facing each other. As Schneider scoots closer, tightening his arms around him, Paul accidentally lets out a flustered noise, which has Schneider laughing again. Paul's face is on fire. He moves so he's a little lower than Schneider, so he can rest his head comfortably against the bed and _not_ right in front of Schneider's face.

They end up in an excessively intimate embrace—this isn't what Paul had in mind. He was expecting, maybe, just a hug that lasts longer than three seconds, but this is just overboard. He considers backing off, but Schneider is now silent and still, laying close enough that their knees touch, with his arms resting limply around Paul.

And then Paul recalls he's not exactly wearing any pants, which makes this worse. Despite that, Paul reluctantly reaches over to drape his arm around Schneider in return. Schneider doesn't move, or say anything. Paul is quickly becoming overwhelmed. His face is burning up, and his heart is pounding. Again, he can smell Schneider. He also has a great view of his throat, _and_ his clavicle that peeks out from the collar of his sweater, considering their respective heights.

But, even if he is mildly uncomfortable, Paul is still enjoying it, to a degree. Schneider is warm and soft, if a little bit bony in some places. His embrace isn't stiff or anything—Paul blames it on the alcohol. He's laying compliantly in his arms, motionless save for his slow breathing that expands and deflates his ribcage under Paul's arm. Thankfully, they can't see each other's faces. Paul would be far too embarrassed to let this last if that were the case.

Staring at Schneider's collarbone, Paul isn't sure what to say or do. The embrace has lasted maybe two minutes now, with no words spoken. It's nice, definitely, but also— _this is so unlike Schneider_. Though Paul isn't _complaining,_ just bewildered.

Finally, after laying in each other's arms for a few minutes, Schneider leans back just enough to meet Paul's wide-eyed gaze. He's smiling faintly, his eyes sleepy and lidded. His curly hair is surrounding his face prettily—and getting in his eyes, like usual. Paul stares with a warm face. He doesn't know what to say. He's completely thrown off from all of this.

Schneider begins to lean in again. Though this time, startling Paul, he plants a bashful, drunken kiss to his forehead in a firm peck. Paul's mind becomes astonished static. Schneider draws back again, to search his shocked expression.

“Goodnight, Paul,” he says with a slight, teasing smile, searching in Paul's embarrassed eyes as he murmurs, almost jokingly, “I hope you don't feel lonely anymore.”

Then he shifts away, out from underneath Paul's arm. Face burning up, Paul opens his mouth, speechless, and then closes it again. He watches the other man slide back into his own bed, his face turned away from Paul's gaze. Schneider gets situated underneath the blankets again. Now all Paul can see of him is his explosion of curly locks peeking out from the blankets.

For a moment, Paul just stares at the back of his head with his heart racing and stomach flipping. He suddenly feels overheated from his flustered state, but also _cold,_ now that Schneider's warmth is missing. Swallowing hard, Paul drops his gaze to the blankets tangled around his own legs. Reaching out, he grabs them and pulls them back over himself. He flops down into his pillows and stares at Schneider for a moment longer, before closing his eyes. He lets out a breath and then buries his face into the blankets, embarrassed. But, he also feels content and... Happy.

Shit.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
